


Flamme-de-Gloire

by inkjunket



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco, Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Community: wip_amnesty, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 16:32:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1717253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkjunket/pseuds/inkjunket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was no small matter to be captain of a Flamme-de-Gloire, stolen in the egg right out from under Bonaparte's nose, fetched back to Britain to serve in her time of great need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flamme-de-Gloire

**Author's Note:**

> This is a wip, posted for WIP Amnesty 2014, and is not likely to be finished... The last time I worked on it was 2010. So even though in my heart, this is an epic and beautiful love story that is Brendon/Spencer, Jon/Ryan, you won't be getting that part here.

Spencer remembered little of his time inside the egg. He had known it was time for him to hatch when the warm and dark of the shell surrounding him came to feel cramped instead of safe; he pushed out with his wings and his head and his spikes, and the egg cracked around him to let him see his first slice of daylight. He looked round, saw a semi-circle of men watching him expectantly, with one, nondescript and visibly trembling, closer to him than the rest. Spencer didn't much like the look of him. He turned away from this group, and caught a smell on the wind that made his belly growl with hunger. He shifted to face that direction, and his eyes fell on a young man hanging back to the side, leaning against some tool, which he later learned was a shovel, used for clearing up the manure of the cattle, because the young man worked with the herd.

The appealing smell was much stronger, coming from behind the young man, and Spencer wanted to ask him what it was, and how he might get something - he felt the need so strongly - so Spencer moved toward him, only to stumble on the edge of his own wing, to his dismay and embarrassment; but the young man rushed forward and righted him, though the others gave shouts of disapproval. Spencer turned his head towards him in gratitude, and found himself asking him not what the smell was or where he should go, but instead asking the question which had been waiting on his tongue since long before he had cracked the egg - "What is my name?" And that is how Ryan named him Spencer, and became his captain, in one breath.

Spencer now knows that he was supposed to choose Wilson, the bland man who had trained to be a captain, who held a bitter grudge against them both for the rejection, but seemed to hold it most hard against Ryan. But for all that Ryan had not trained with the Corps, for all that that he was a poor man's son, destined to be a drunkard and a lout, as Wilson muttered in the covert halls without much care to who heard, Ryan was Spencer's, and Spencer Ryan's, and Spencer would not let any ill be spoken of him. He said as much to Wilson, and though he was only two months then, managed to belch a small flame, to his great pride, and Wilson went white with fright, and was transferred soon thereafter to another covert, and they did not hear of him again.

Ryan said it wasn't very gentlemanly, but it was funny, and it did make him smile, and then laugh, and Spencer thought with great satisfaction that it was he who made Wilson go away, and that Ryan approved, even if it was a dragonly way of doing things.

While Spencer grew to almost his full size, Ryan caught up on learning the many things one needed to know to be a captain of a dragon, rather than one who swept up its dirt. Much of their days were spent drilling in formations under Celeritas's watchful eye and sharp, reproving roar. They learned quickly, and the training master gave Spencer special lessons, because he was the only fire-breather of the Corps, and therefore much needed. Spencer felt great pride in this, and would like as not puff up his spikes when a new dragon came to the covert, to show that he was unique. Ryan grinned fondly at him when he did this, but he would then puff up his chest also, and Spencer knew it was no small matter to be captain of a Flamme-de-Gloire, stolen in the egg right out from under Bonaparte's nose, fetched back to Britain to serve in her time of great need.

*

When Spencer was fully grown, he and Ryan were sent with their crew to an outpost on the [WATER]. Spencer thought this was rather dull a posting for the only fire-breather in the whole of Britain, but Ryan said it was their duty to go where the Corps said they must go, and so Spencer went. The outpost was rather small, but there were a few other dragons there - two Yellow Reapers, Butcher and Joseph; an Angelwing, Patrick, and a Longwing, Frank; so Spencer thought perhaps it was worth defending after all if they had left such a group of dragons to guard it, "and a Flamme-de-Gloire as well," Spencer remarked to Ryan, when he was curled up for the night, Ryan stretched out along his side with his blanket pulled up over his chin against the cold. Ryan always preferred to sleep outside with Spencer even if there were lodging available.

Tonight Ryan had out his lute, and was quietly twiddling with its strings while he and Spencer talked. Ryan wrote poetry which he sometimes put to song, and Spencer liked to tap his talons in rhythm to Ryan's lute on the nights when Ryan chose to sing. Usually Ryan would play softly, so as not to disturb the others, but Spencer thought that also, from the way the tips of Ryan's ears turned red whenever anyone inquired about the lute case strapped to Spencer's harness, that he did not wish to play to strangers, and that perhaps he was a little shy. It was not cowardice, Spencer thought somewhat fiercely, but really that they might not be able to understand Ryan's poetry, and he was glad to have the songs to himself, because when Ryan sang, it was just for him.

There was a rustling sound, and a sleepy head on a long neck - the Angelwing, Patrick - peered round Spencer's side curiously. Ryan's fingers immediately stilled on the lute, and he quickly began an apology for disturbing the Angelwing's slumber, but Patrick merely let his head settle to the ground next to Spencer's forearm, and said quietly, "Do continue."

Spencer felt his spikes go up a little at the command, but the tone in which the other dragon had spoken was gentle and approving, so Spencer found he could not much be annoyed at that, and Ryan resumed his playing. It was lovely, a new song about a dragon seeking treasure and finding it at sea with a boat of pirates and a traveling circus, all overtaken by a mermaid's siren call, and Spencer soon forgot Patrick's presence as he listened, and was soon tapping his talons again.

When the song had ended, there was a low, resonant sigh from behind Spencer, who turned to find that Joseph had awoken as well and was regarding them both through one half-lidded eye.

"We liked your song," Joseph said, his eye flicking down to his captain, Hurley, who, Spencer realized, also seemed to like to sleep outside with his dragon. "Perhaps you can play some more tomorrow. But for tonight, it is time to sleep. We all have a long patrol at dawn." And he gave a great yawn, showing his long teeth, and a battlescar that stretched from his jaw down across his chest, and Spencer felt no need to argue with him, for all that he could breathe fire. He was indeed tired after their long week of travel to arrive here from Loch Laggan.

*

Spencer liked their companions at the outpost very much, although he would have liked more fighting; since he had been trained to do it for so long, it now seemed rather tiresome that he would have to wait forever before he saw battle. Ryan, though, smiled a bit more each day, and Spencer observed that perhaps Ryan had not like the covert very much, with the many boys and men who did not like that he had been chosen to captain a Flamme-de-Gloire over them. When Spencer thought about it now, he wanted to let out a giant breath and make them feel his very hot anger.

He said as much to Ryan, and offered to take him back to do battle with anyone who had made Ryan unhappy, but Ryan merely told him not to be silly, and asked him what would be a good rhyme for "dragon scales." Spencer found this question to be rather difficult, and was thus distracted from this line of conversation.

The other dragons all liked Ryan's playing, and the other captains and their ground crews and flight crews, it seemed each had someone with a little musical talent among them. They invited Ryan to come play with them, but didn't push him when he said he prefered to play only for the dragons. Spencer liked that Ryan's tales put to music were just for them, but he should have liked Ryan to have also played for the other men, so that they could see another of his talents; he knew that some thought he was young to captain the only fire-breather in the Corps.

*

One morning while they were out on patrol, a speck on the horizon resolved itself into the shape of a small Winchester, hurtling through the sky with its head down, clearly flat out at the end of a long flight. When it saw Spencer and the flags Ryan had Marshall put up to declare themselves, it altered course and came straight towards them. Ryan said a word and so Spencer changed his course until he was flying alongside the tired little dragon.

"Do you need to rest?" Spencer asked solicitously, for the little thing had the tip of his tongue stuck through the side of his teeth in concentration, trying to keep his eyes open, and his wings trembled with the effort of flight. "My captain has suggested we could set down not far from here."

"Yes, please," the dragon said, "I'll follow," and that seemed to be all the breath he could manage for speech because he stopped there. Spencer sped up, but saw that the captain on his back also looked tired, but his mouth was set in a grim line of concern, and he had one hand which he was stroking along the dragon's neck, leaning forward to say something into his ear which seemed to encourage him, for his wings beat a little harder, and then they were soon at the clearing Ryan had had in mind.

Spencer let the smaller dragon set down first; he went crashing down and only managed to stop himself from plowing straight into the earth with a last-minute correction of his wings. Even so, he stumbled a bit on his landing, and his captain looked shaken.

Spencer had not met many Winchesters before; there had been some at the covert, but those he had mostly seen some time ago. Now that he was fully grown, he could see how small they were; he felt no need to puff himself up, for this creature could clearly see that Spencer had the advantage of size even without his other abilities. But the little dragon seemed to have no concern for size or anything else, for that matter, merely settled onto the ground and let his head loll to the side, sides heaving. His captain jumped from his back quickly, and made his way over to Ryan, who had also dismounted.

"Jon Walker," he said, "of Brendon," gesturing back to the little dragon, "and we have urgent word from the admiral. Is it far to the outpost?" And he and Ryan began to speak quickly.

Spencer craned his neck around to Brendon, then looked back at his crew. Brendon was too small to have his own crew, and he clearly needed tending to. "Colligan," he called, and his MIDSHIPMAN turned about smartly. Spencer was very pleased with his crew, for all that they were said to be very young. They spoke very respectfully to him and did his bidding quickly, and were very good with the harness. "Please see to Brendon; do we have any water to spare him?"

Brendon took the water Colligan gave him gratefully, though it could hardly have been enough to slake his thirst, but he lifted his head a bit to thank Spencer, and then everyone was boarding again, and they were aloft and to the outpost. When they arrived, the ground crews tended to Brendon, who ate two goats in quick succession, and fell asleep immediately thereafter, with a small whistling snore, tail twitching anxiously where it lay.

*  
Jon was surprised to find that the captain of the only Flamme-de-Gloire in Britain would be so young, but he kept his surprise to himself, and followed Captain Ross back to the outpost. Brendon's strength was failing quickly. As soon as he had finished eating, Brendon curled into a tight coil and slept. The Flamme-de-Gloire, Jon noticed with bemusement, stood indecisively for a moment, shifting restlessly nearby, before curling himself up as well, head turned towards Brendon, eyes only half-lidded in the firelight. Well, at least Brendon had someone to watch over him while Jon went inside.

Jon focused on delivering his message. That was hard enough to do; he felt weary to the bone, and wanted nothing more than to be stretched out along Brendon's side. As he finished the recitation, he swayed on his feet a bit and at that Colonel Nestor gave a disapproving cough and said, "That's enough for now, young Walker. See to your dragon," and she waved him off, turning to the other captains to go over the maps Jon had brought, and the admiral's orders.


End file.
